hen it will be done for yourself also. But she could
not conquer the past. The fire and water of repentance, adequate as
they may be for eternity, cannot burn out or wash away the remorse
of this life. They scorch and choke;--and unless it be so there is
no repentance. So she told herself,--and yet it was her duty to be
light-hearted that others around her might not be made miserable by
her sorrow! If she could be in truth light-hearted, then would she
know herself to be unfeeling and worthless.
On the third day after the marriage Arthur Fletcher came back to
Wharton with the declared intention of remaining there till the end
of the holidays. She could make no objection to such an arrangement,
nor could she hasten her own return to London. That had been fixed
before her departure and was to be made together with her father.
She felt that she was being attacked with unfair weapons, and that
undue advantage was taken of the sacrifice which she had made for
her brother's sake. And yet,--yet how good to her they all were!
How wonderful was it that after the thing she had done, after the
disgrace she had brought on herself and them, after the destruction
of all that pride which had once been hers, they should still
wish to have her among them! As for him,--of whom she was always
thinking,--of what nature must be his love, when he was willing to
take to himself as his wife such a thing as she had made herself!
But, thinking of this, she would only tell herself that as he would
not protect himself, she was bound to be his protector. Yes;--she
would protect him, though she could dream of a world of joy that
might be hers if she could dare to do as he would ask her.
He caught her at last and forced her to come out with him into the
grounds. He could tell his tale better as he walked by her side than
sitting restlessly on a chair or moving awkwardly about the room
as on such an occasion he would be sure to do. Within four walls
she would have some advantage over him. She could sit still and be
dignified in her stillness. But in the open air, when they would
both be on their legs, she might not be so powerful with him, and he
perhaps might be stronger with her. She could not refuse him when he
asked her to walk with him. And why should she refuse him? Of course
he must be allowed to utter his prayer,--and then she must be allowed
to make her answer. "I think the marriage went off very well," he
said.
"Very well. Everett oug
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